


Zin-Azshari

by chararii



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: A journey of sorts, Gen, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chararii/pseuds/chararii
Summary: At night, she dreams of home.
Kudos: 5





	Zin-Azshari

**Author's Note:**

> More Azshara. I can't help it.

She doesn't sleep. Day or night don't exist so far below the surface where no sun or moon can reach. It is always dark, perfect for those eyes of hers. The few lights that exist glow in warm oranges or yellows are products of natural luminescent plants or animals that are native to her realm. They don't serve as light sources, neither she nor her people are depending on those to see. They bring only beauty. Aesthetic value. Some glamour to what is otherwise blue, green, dull and dark.

Once upon a time, she placed more value on beauty. On rich silks, lavish jewelry, glory, glitter, all that is grande and excellent. Those pretty things filled her days, days full of enjoyment and entertainment, days of old... days of gold. All that, in hindsight, seems almost meaningless.

She plans and plots, moves about pieces on the board that is the world, her eternal, ever-lasting playground. She has goals and ambitions and every waking second is spent getting closer and closer to reaching what she so craves. She works and thinks and entertainment has almost entirely left her life, as it is. There are none of the dances she remembers, no music, no plays. Part of that, were she capable of ever admitting such a thing, is her fault. Some of her past decisions have been... shortsighted. She chose to bring those who excelled, those she believed could shape their new world in her image. She didn't bring the craftsmen or the sirens, left behind art and joy, the jewels and the silks. She considered that an advantage, once.

Over ten thousand years later she's not so sure about that anymore.

She used to rest. Needed to. Despite her transformation having been sudden, a surge of magic that turned her into more than old her could have ever hoped to be, her mind took a while to catch up. Navigating her new body came to her easily, required nary a thought. The spike to her power levels too, took little time to adjust to. Looking into a mirror and feeling truly comfortable with her image took... longer.

In the end, she is a vain creature. She was born like that, centuries before anyone else's memory. She's not quite the oldest being still residing on this mortal plane though she comes rather close, not that anyone knows. Immortality and magic both kept her eternally fresh and youthful with elegant cheekbones, high arching eyebrows and full curved lips. Her golden eyes, rare to the point of uniqueness and hair so pale it shone brighter than the stars were envied by all, long ago.

Her cheeks, eyebrows and lips are still the same. Her hair and eyes are not.

She is still the most resplendent of her kind, naturally. She knows just where to look to see the traces of a face and body she can still see whenever she closed her eyes. It is a secret she keeps to herself, in the darkest corner of her mind that she doesn't have to share with this stain lodged so firmly inside her being she feels it every single moment. It tried to rid her of those memories, tried to take blue skin, white hair and golden eyes from her. But she is stubborn. She prevailed. As did the images.

She doesn't think of them often. Reminiscing is a waste of time that is better spent focusing on her efforts. She has a war to win after all. Multiple, actually. An eternity she may have but even that is not quite enough time when she has to race against a being older than time that seeks to consume her whole. She is clever. Cunning. Above all, determined. She will succeed, there is no doubt about that. Still. Lingering in days long past shakes her focus, providing an opening that is too easy to exploit. So she doesn't linger and strides ever forward without looking back.

Time passes without touching her. The sea never changes, one enemy gets replaced by another and they all fall before her in the end. She watches over her people, leads them to victory time and time again. They bring news of successful war campaigns above the surface, tell her of the land they conquered, the statues and cities they erected in her name. She praises them, names them lords and ladies, allows them to govern in her name. She has no interest in what lies above. She knew life above the surface once. Whatever they made of it will not come even close to her first empire. Whatever they made of it can only serve to disappoint her.

Only once does she taste fresh air. She is all that is dark and deep, her sanctuary in the heart of ruins she has known for as long as she can remember. The bottom of the ocean is where she roams, as far away from the surface as possible. It's not that she's curious. It is, more than anything else, that she is bored. It is what she tells herself at least as she slowly moves upwards, weaves magic to have the currents carry her towards a sky she hasn't laid eyes on in... a long time. The air dries her skin and lungs and it takes her almost passing out to realise that she has forgotten how to breathe.

Her fingers paint lines in the sand that mirror the waves behind her. It is still dark, night time, yet the moon shines so bright she has to look away. Censure, perhaps. She has never been Elune's most favoured and it would be like the matron of her wayward priestess to scold her for breaching the invisible barrier that separates their realms. There's not much to see, nothing but a hint of a city far away from the shore. If she strains her ears she can hear the hissing of forked tongues, the sound of scales slithering across rough ground and the language of a serpentine people. She curls her lip as she turns around to disappear in the waters once more, never to be seen above the surface again.

She doesn't sleep. She doesn't need to. Much like hunger or thirst the urge to rest is nothing but a faint memory. She is made of magic more than she is made of flesh and bone. It is what she always wanted. She is perfection. And yet sometimes, only sometimes, she closes her eyes. And drifts.

When she opens them again, the world is different. Everything is a little purple and blue, contrasted by rich streaks of warm orange. She feels soft winds on bare skin that play with thin white cloth which hugs her body. Pale strands of hair flutter around her head and when she raises her hand she sees lavender skin, littered with countless tiny goosebumps. Her bare feet stand on warm polished stone and her entire being is set aglow by a blazing sun that sets on the horizon, dousing the tall spires and curved roofs of her city in a rich golden haze.

The moment passes but there are bright glowing spots in front of her vision and the song of a dead people echoing in her ears. She is surrounded by water once more, the warmth she can still feel on her skin little more than a waning memory of what has long since been forgotten.

“Zin-Azshari,” she speaks in the emptiness of her throne room where coral grows and the stony ground is littered with precious gems and pearls, a mockery of the one she left behind. Tattered banners of purple silk drift in calm waters and only the ambient light created by her own magic reveals shimmering quartz and the marble of ruins that look nothing like what she sees in her dreams.

“The glory of Azshara.”


End file.
